The Hunger Games: Treading Water
by Mkayyyyy
Summary: By the time I redirect my attention away from the scarlet sunrise Finnick has disappeared... The story of Annie Cresta.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Hey guys this is my first fanfiction (I've edited it slightly since the first time I posted it a few days ago because I'm still getting the hang of this) and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to those who have already favorited and reviewed this story in its rougher stages.

The premise belongs to Ms. Suzanne Collins and the writing belongs to me.

Part 1: The Tributes

CHAPTER ONE

Everyone in the village swears it was a muttation. The Capitol was supposed to have removed all the mutts from our waters after the war was over, and they did for the most part. Except for The Shark, that is. The Capitol and skeptics in the district maintain that there's nothing there. But the old fishermen with tangled white beards say that he's still out there, left behind to scare us. Left behind as another reminder of how powerless we truly are to the Capitol. Even as one of the wealthier districts in Panem District 4 still has to participate in the Hunger Games and still has a murderous beast lurking in its waters.

Years ago we would send out search parties now and then, armed with harpoons to take down the mutt. However, each party would come back empty handed so now we've all but given up. A lot of people have settled into thinking that The Shark really is just a myth, passed along generations in old sea shanties. But if a foreigner or citizen of the Capitol were to inquire about our shark infested ocean they would swear up and down that he really does exist. I think that, deep down, everyone knows he's there.

Now he's all anyone will talk about. Him and Allie.

I mull these thoughts over from the floor of my dinghy as the gentle ocean rocks me back and forth. The sun is already bright and high in the sky and it threatens to blind me. Of course there's not a cloud aloft to protect me from its power. Instead the sky is endlessly blue and it meets the calm cerulean sea like an old friend at the horizon. Lovely weather for Reaping Day.

I sit up, wincing as my sun-burned skin refuses to move. Unlike most citizens of District 4 I burn easily. Most people here are well adapted to the sun, each kissed by its rays and tan. I'm as pale as the underbelly of a cuttlefish. Fortunately my dad has concocted a special salve for my loser skin. Dad. Another wave of grief crashes over me. He's taken Allie's death the hardest.

I dip my fingers into the water. Maybe hoping The Shark would come and get me too. Come and get all of us. My eyelids are heavy and the rocking so soothing that I somehow drift off to sleep. I haven't really slept in a while. It's torture hearing your parents mourn the loss of your little brother through the night. He wasn't even old enough to be reaped.

A ringing bell stirs me. It's off in the distance. Sounds like the bell in the lighthouse. I resurface from my dreams, rubbing the sand from my eyes and the soreness from my cheek. I had fallen asleep with my cheek against the lip of my boat. The bell. It means it's time for the reaping. The reaping I should be at.

I quickly abandon the dinghy and start swimming to shore. I can swim much faster than I can row, and luckily I had not drifted out too far from the beach while I slept. In no time my bare feet are hitting the hot pavement of the village square. The Peacekeepers responsible for keeping track of attendance give me a knowing look as I sign in. I was late for last year's reaping too, not because I was saddled with grief but because I have a tendency to daydream.

The older kids are positioned near the back of the square and I slip underneath the netting that holds the seventeen year old girls together. Because District 4 is so large the Reaping is set up in each of our four village squares. However, there are only two enormous glass globes that hold every boy and girl's name in the district. There is only one Capitol escort and only two victor mentors. I see them all on the platform that sits before the twelve year olds in front of me.

The twelve year olds seem to be the only ones nervous for the Reaping. The rest of us know that it doesn't really matter whose name is fished out of the glass bowl as there is no shortage of volunteers in District 4. As the Capitol anthem begins to play and the footage of the stage before me cuts to a message from President Snow everyone in the square begins to settle down. Beach blankets are unfurled and spread on the ground and everyone sits. The Reapings in District 4 are known to take ages due to the complicated protocols involved with selecting a volunteer, so might as well get comfortable now.

I realize that I'm still standing when a pair of cool hands eases me down into a squat.

"Are you okay Annie?" The owner of the chilled touch asks, concerned. It's Waverly, my neighbor and best friend.

"Yes, I'm fine." I reply breezily, "Happy Hunger Games."

My sentiments are echoed by the woman who has replaced President Snow on the screen.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She repeats in her Capitol way. Some people in the crowd cheer, and the woman looks rather pleased.

She hasn't been the district escort for very long, in fact it's only her second year. The old escort died in some kind of improbable water slide accident. I guess it's a blessing we don't have water slides here.

Her name is Thora Sugarcane and she looks delighted to be here. She claims to "love love love" District 4 and even decorates her elaborate blue locks with little boats and sea creatures. I can't help but concentrate on a steely shark nestled in a heavily styled tunnel built into her wavy hair. In effect she is The Shark. But I choose not to hold it against her. She's naïve and green and actually very nice. I try to stop being so cynical. What ever happened to naïve and green Annie?

"Let us select the girl tribute first!" She chirps, plunging her hand into the globe filled to the brim with tiny blue slips of paper. The slips undulate as she rustles around, trying to buy time before she has to ask for volunteers. Career kids jumped on her last year as soon as she got the word "volunteers" out and she nearly broke down in tears. My eyes wander over to the mentors, first concentrating on Mags, then Finnick. I've never met our victors, or anyone who was ever involved in the Games for that matter.

The age gap between our mentors is particularly striking, Mags at eighty and Finnick at just nineteen. Other than that I can't say I'm very knowledgeable about District 4's most honorable citizens.

But I do know that Mags suffered a stroke a few years back and her health has been deteriorating ever since. But she's awfully old. She's the oldest living victor actually, and the last victor to have lived in a time before the Games. She leans on a cane and tries to stand still. They'll doubtless drag up a chair for her once the volunteering begins. I feel sad looking at her, so I shift my gaze to Finnick Odair. While Mags wins the oldest victor award he wins the award for most attractive. He really looks like the rest of us, though, well, except for me. Tan skin, eyes the color of the sea. But somehow he's more beautiful than the rest of us. Right now he just looks bored.

My thoughts are interrupted by the trill of a name.

"Annie Cresta." Thora announces, holding the little blue slip up triumphantly.

My heart begins to race and Waverly gives me a gentle nudge. I stand, clearly visible in the assembly of sitting children. I'm forced to say goodbye to the rough towel I had planned to spend the afternoon on watching the chaos of the volunteer selection. Volunteers. Someone will volunteer for me. This gives me courage as I make weak strides towards the stage. My image dominates the screen. I look crazy.

My hair is matted, my skin red and agitated, my eyes sleepless. Not to mention the fact I'm still dripping from my swim. Thora looks frightened by my appearance but comes over to congratulate me nonetheless. Then she asks for volunteers.

I feel as though I'm in a fog and can almost feel the mist associated with a blurry gray morning by the sea. My eyes lock on the shark I had spotted earlier in Thora's hair and I think of Allie. Sweet innocent Allie. It was a muttation they say. It was the Capitol they say. I glance away from the shiny clip and over the energized crowd. Everyone wants to be a tribute. Then I see a solemn old fisherman with a tangled white beard. He nods at me. I nod back. I say no.

The crowd gapes at me. She hasn't trained for this they think.

"No volunteers." I repeat, not yet released from my daze.

"Well then, congratulations Annie Cresta. You are our female tribute for the 70th Hunger Games!" Thora beams, taking my sandy white hand and raising it in the air. I can't even begin to explain my actions. Regret and fear wash over me and I feel as if I'm holding my breath. I struggle to resurface. To help me get my bearings I scan the crowd for that wise fisherman. Where has he gone?

I can't seem to find the fisherman but a few kindred spirits in the crowd clap for me. Their applause is slow and sad. As a whole the congregation is displeased. Where they expected a devil ray they instead behold a second rate angelfish. Each one of them is a shark and I avert my eyes from their glaring faces. My parents lean on each other for support as their friends gather around them in the walk space surrounding the square. I can tell they're doing all they can to keep from falling apart. My father begins to cry, his shoulders heaving, and they excuse themselves from the Reaping.

I feel faint, and steadily lower myself to the floor to avoid falling off the platform altogether. The wood beneath me is coarse and already coated in a film of sand. I clutch my knees with my hands, feeling the inescapable need to escape. I want to run away and hide in my dinghy for the rest of the afternoon.

There goes my chance for sponsors. What will the Capitol people think of a girl who refuses volunteers but is so weak she cannot stand? I glance over at my new mentors. Mags looks despondent, Finnick raises his eyebrows at me but still appears to be disinterested.

Meanwhile the Reaping is still taking place around me and Thora has retrieved a blue strip of paper from the depths of the boys' globe.

"Dylan Calder!" The woman with a shark in her hair warbles.

The previously aggravated crowd quiets as the little boy named Dylan Calder mounts the stage. He has red hair and freckles just like Allie. He's so tiny and yet looks so brave up there on screen. Up here standing beside me. His presence seems to calm the shifting earth and wooden stage so I regain my footing and stand next to him, but only for a second.

"Volunteers?" Thora asks and there's an uproar of excitement.

Five boys ultimately volunteer and they are ushered onto stage, each of them fit, tall, and strong. One by one they tell Thora their name and age and then the Peacekeepers in charge of attendance take to the platform. One of the men holds a hefty leather-bound book in his spotless white gloves and is tasked with confirming that these strapping young men are who they say they are. I sneak another peek at the mentors. Sure enough Mags has been given a chair on which to rest, but her expression hasn't changed. Finnick seems to be working out something in his head and looks relatively excited. That's what he was waiting for, a real contender who might actually make it out of the arena alive.

The five volunteers' names are written on new shreds of paper and then the shreds are deposited into a globe that looks like an old fish bowl. Now the crowd is really quiet. Thora dramatically closes her eyes and feels around inside the bowl. She grasps a paper and the populace takes in a collective breath. They exhale as she releases it and continues her search. Finally her delicate fingers leave the bowl and she reads the name aloud.

"Pacific Smith! Congratulations you are our male tribute for the 70th Hunger Games!" Thora exclaims, tugging a boy with ochre hair and tan skin to center stage. She raises his triumphant hand in the air and an expression of achievement lights up his features.

Pacific Smith shakes my hand. He could probably break it if he wanted. Snap each of my pale fingers like toothpicks. He isn't broad shouldered like the rest of the volunteers who sulk off the stage, but I can tell he's powerful. Instead of being bulky and muscle bound he is lean and wiry, kind of like Finnick. But that is where the comparisons stop. Like me, he is rather average looking. Our designers are probably disappointed.

We're lead into the Justice Building and I'm shut up in a tiny room with wicker furniture and pure white upholstery. The wind blows airy white curtains inward and I inhale deeply. Will this breath of sea air be my last?

My parents are admitted into the room first and I can tell they've been crying. First their son is stolen from the world and now their daughter willing stumbles towards death's door. They should be angry with me but they aren't.

We exchange words of family and love and they smooth some of the skin salve over my shoulders and face. My dad tentatively peels away my angry sun-burned cells, leaving behind soothed pink skin. My mother brings the edge of her sleeve to her mouth and then wipes my face clean. With a final embrace they're casted from the room by a Peacekeeper and my next visitors are allowed in for their final goodbyes.

This time it's a group of my friends, all teary and telling me that they'll miss me. No one thinks I'll make it back home alive.

My last visitor is Waverly. Her face surprises me at first, her normally complacent semblance is livid.

"You can't keep running away Annie! You know that right? You won't be able to run and hide from this." She practically shouts at me.

"What?" I ask quietly, playing innocent. I know what's she's talking about though and I dare not meet her eyes. I look down at the glossy wooden floor to avoid her gaze and to hang my head in shame.

"You couldn't stand to be in your house after Allie died so you took to the neighborhood. But he's all anyone will talk about so you cast yourself off to sea and hid in your little boat. And now you're running as far away from this place as you can." She retorts, but I can tell she's losing her resolve.

We manage a hug before she too is torn away.

I'm prodded onto a train by some Peacekeepers and then I'm face to face with my new family. Pacific, Thora, Mags, and Finnick Odair.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N This is an updated chapter 2, for those who have already read the old chapter 2 and 3 pick the story up at the middle of the page. Thank you for your patience and continued support lovely readers :]

CHAPTER TWO

I nervously clutch the edge of my seat as the train revs up. I've never been on a train before, let alone one that goes 250 miles per hour.

Capitol servants file out of the kitchen and place delicious looking things on the table that the four of us are gathered around. Pacific and I sit on one side, Finnick and Mags on the other. I look down at the food, fancy and foreign. A pearly white cloth covers the tabletop and there are at least three different types of forks and spoons on each side of my plate. Every dainty teacup gets its own dainty saucer.

I have no idea where to start. Of course my family uses plates and flatware at home, but nothing of this caliber. Pacific is likewise clueless and I think we're both relieved when Thora floats out of the kitchen to offer us some assistance. Well, at least I am. Pacific has selected his innermost silverware and begins to chow down.

Thora hides her distaste for his poor table manners as she pours tea for the table.

"One lump or two?" She asks me sweetly as she procures a sugar bowl from one of the servants.

"Just one, please." I answer. I take a sip of the dark, warm liquid after Miss. Sugarcane plops one sugar cube into its bitter depths. And it is bitter. I must make an unpleasant face because she drops an additional two cubes into my cup once I set it down.

I wonder if, with a name like Sugarcane, Thora fancies herself the keeper of the sugar. She certainly seems attached to it, clutching it close to her body as she asks how many lumps Pacific would like.

"None for me." He says, so she moves on, depositing two cubes into Mags' mug, a spoonful onto Finnick's saucer, and at least ten into her own teacup.

Finally she sits down at the head of the table. It isn't customary for the escorts to serve the district people but I guess she just wanted to keep tabs on the sugar or something.

"Let us join hands and thank the Capitol." She says, grasping Pacific's hand even though he's still holding his dinner knife. I take his other hand once he lets go of his spoon and then Finnick reaches over the table to hold my left. He makes eye contact with me as Thora instructs us to close our eyes. But I don't and Finnick doesn't either. We stare at each other as Thora blathers on about how wonderful the Capitol is and how grateful we are for its power. Once she's done with her lengthy encomium to President Snow my green-eyed mentor glances away and nonchalantly pops a sugar cube in his mouth.

"Is it too early to talk strategy?" He asks, crunching away.

"It's never too early to talk strategy." Pacific answers, leaning forward a bit.

I almost forgot that Finnick belongs to Pacific. My mentor is Mags who has just reopened her eyes. I don't think she was so much thanking the Capitol as she was taking a nap.

"Alright. So I haven't been at this for too long," he begins, "I had to replace old Keel last year, so this is only my second Games as a mentor."

Mags nods sadly. Keel was at death's door during last year's Games and was excused from his duties as a mentor. He passed away early this year after a long and very public battle with a morphling addiction. Only Allie's untimely passing could get the people to stop talking about him.

"So Mags has agreed to show me the ropes, we'll be mentoring you two together." He finishes with a flourish.

I can't help but wonder if this arrangement is really for Finnick's sake or for my own and that of Mags. Her speech has become somewhat garbled after her stroke and she needs rest. I don't understand why the Capitol won't just leave her alone. I think she's done enough for the Hunger Games.

Pacific and I nod our assent and Thora dismisses us from the table. Pacific decides to hang around but I don't need to be told twice. I am given little time to behold the extravagance of my cabin before my vision is obscured by a deluge of tears. I collapse on the bed and make no attempts to stifle my cries.

I miss my family. I hate the Capitol for taking me away from them. I hate myself for letting them.

This will surely be looked upon as an elaborate suicide attempt by my district. It is probably better than just an attempt. I will succeed in getting away from this place. But I'm scared to leave.

I continue to cry until no more tears will come. I cry for my parents, I cry for myself, I cry for Waverly, and then I cry for Allie. Sweet, innocent Allie. His blood is on my hands.

It was three months ago when I took him out on the water. As shop owners' kids we never really had a reason to set sail other than for recreation. My family manufactures and sells nets and my parents all but kept Allie wrapped up in one they were so protective of him. But he was itching to feel the bob of the waves beneath his core and the sea spray against his skin. The big boys in our neighborhood wouldn't let him tag along on their raft adventures so I told him he could come out with me in my dinghy.

"Your dinghy? No offence Annie, but I think the guys will make even more fun of me if I go out on the water on that thing." He had said.

"But a dinghy is much cooler than a raft," I had assured him, "look it even has a name."

And it did. When I was eleven I had painted "S.S Anne" on the side in bright blue paint.

"Yeah, a girl's name." He responded incredulously.

"That's because all the best ships are named after women, Allie. For example, take The Maria, and The Waterlily, and The Auntie Coral…" I had explained playfully, mussing up his red hair as I spoke.

He laughed, squinting his eyes and exposing his toothless smile. He had just lost his two front teeth a few days before.

"Okay then, thanks Annie." He said, taking my hand.

If only he had protested further.

I awake from my nightmare with a start and struggle against the netting that entraps me. I'm tangled up in my bedding and the fluffy down sticks to my clammy brow. My room is dark and the train is silent. I cautiously leave my cabin and creep down the hallway that leads back to the dining room. I crave water.

The moon casts some light over the dining room but it is largely left in shadows. The place where I had dined earlier and held hands with my team in the name of the Capitol is cold, sterile, and eerie in its stoic silence. I had expected to hear the rattling of the train rushing along its tracks, but instead my ears are bombarded with white noise. I crave the sound of the crashing waves that is so omnipresent in District 4. A restless sea that helps us all to sleep better.

I'm startled when the room is suddenly illuminated; the source of its warm yellow light comes from a table lamp adjacent to the dinner table. Finnick looks at me from his seat and I feel as if I'm intruding. He looks weary and somewhat annoyed so I'm surprised when he beckons me to the table. I sit in front of him apprehensively and it's quiet save for the rattle of the train. The rattle of the train. Had I imagined the earlier quietude?

Elbows on the table, Finnick buries his face in his hands and then starts laughing. He's not hysterical or anything, but laughing nonetheless. I fail to see what's so funny.

Uncovering his face and resting his cheek on his hand he recites

_Annie, Annie so mild and fair, _

_With bright green eyes and dark brown hair._

"I've never heard that odd poetry before." I say, confused.

"That's cause I just made it up." He says matter-of-factly.

"When?" I ask, still confused.

"While I was thanking the Capitol for being so wonderful to us." He explains with a smirk.

"Oh, well thanks, I guess." I say, suddenly self-conscious.

I hadn't really bothered to brush my hair all day. And from the swim to my restless sleep my dark brown hair probably looked like a dark brown seagull's nest. Probably not even a very good one at that. My thoughts are dominated by a memory of Allie. During the spring he and I would evaluate the work of the seagulls that nested near the shop. He always said I was too nice when grading the rookie nests. What I wouldn't give to return to my former life as a bird nest inspector.

Finnick shrugs, "Poetry is my talent after all. And maybe I've realized you're not as crazy as you look."

He's referencing the ridiculous talent that all victors have to come up with after winning the Games. As for the second part, well, I guess he doesn't think I'm as nuts as I've acted today.

"You better go shower up, we're almost there." He adds.

I look out the window and see a red sky behind the rising sun. This makes me recall an ancient scrap of poetry tossed around at the docks in District 4.

_Red sky at night sailor's delight, _

_Red sky in the morning sailor take warning. _

By the time I redirect my attention away from the scarlet sunrise Finnick has disappeared. The lamp is out as well, although there is no need for its light now that the interior of the train is bathed in a soft pink wash of sunlight. The sky brightens with every passing moment and the sun's blood red intensity drains from the sky. I extend my arm curiously, brushing my fingertips against the light's bulb. It's cold. I cover my face in my hands and exhale in exasperation.

Still, dawn is breaking and I must get ready for my first appearance in the glorious Capitol. Hopefully Thora won't make us thank it for what it's provided us over breakfast today. The Capitol has taken away much more than it has provided me with. Yet I must win its favor in order to be provided with anything for the Games, and maybe if I had somehow convinced Finnick that I'm not a nutcase I can convince the rich people in the Capitol too.

I hit the showers, washing the last traces of District 4 and the ocean from my skin and hair. The shower is a brand new sensation to me and it feels like warm rain passing over my skin. I don't think that even the most affluent families in District 4 have showers. Aside from the clean water rations that the Capitol regulates, all of our water comes from the sea. Only the wealthiest sailors can afford the Capitol's water and even then it's only for special occasions. But when Finnick won the Games five years ago everyone was given clean water. I can remember Allie saying that it tasted ten times better than the salt water we purified ourselves. I open my mouth to the spray of the showerhead. It tastes like Allie's favorite water.

I soon step out of the shower and am alarmed to see one of the Capitol servants standing in the bathroom. She gestures towards a large silver sphere that balances on the sink counter.

"Ok, thanks." I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I've never been very comfortable with standing around stark naked in front of other people. That's why I do it as little as possible. Like, never.

The bathroom attendant leaves and I'm left to investigate the silver orb. A mechanical hum sings from its core but it's hard to detect over the knocking of the train. Just as I had experimentally felt the lamp's light bulb I touch the sphere. An electric current instantly races through my body and I'm completely dry. I can just barely feel the silky touch of my hair against my collarbone.

Back in my cabin the woman who had showed me how to use the dryer has laid out a light blue shirt and navy pants for me to wear. I dress quickly before exiting into the main compartment.

"Oh thank goodness!" Thora exclaims as I sit down at the dining table. I'm not sure if she's more relieved that I'm ready or for the fact that I'm more presentable than I was yesterday.

Gone is her Reaping Day splendor. She wears her baby blue hair in a bun that is rolled at the nape of her neck. The shark from yesterday is neatly secured in the center of the blue barrel. I probably look distressed because her expression abruptly changes from pleased to anxious.

"Morning Annie." Finnick says, following up his greeting with a wink.

"Oh Finnick how much sugar have you had this morning?" My escort giggles. She's trying to pretend to be reproachful but I can tell she's batting her bejeweled eyelashes at him. Finnick has quite the reputation with Capitol women.

Ignoring Miss. Sugarcane Mags places a roll on the rest of our breakfast plates.

"From home." She expresses simply.

"Thank you Mags." Pacific responds while splitting his green loaf and inhaling deeply.

"My granddaughter made them… I wasn't sure if you wanted one Thora. No sugar in these." The old woman continues, finally addressing Thora's offended expression.

I tune out her reply as I take the fish-shaped bread in my hands and silently thank Mags' granddaughter. Somehow she's all that Mags has left. I don't know what happened to her other grandchildren or the rest of her family, but now's not the time to ask.

After breakfast Thora escorts us off the train. I can't get a very good look at the Capitol or its people because my senses are overloaded with bright colors and the dazzling sun as it is reflected off of glittering sky scrapers. But I attempt to smile as Thora, Finnick, and Pacific wave to the excitable crowd on our short walk to the Training Center. Mags holds the hand I'm not using to shield my eyes and keeps my pace steady. Judging by my racing heart and sweaty palms I would probably already be inside the stupid building is she wasn't acting as an anchor for my anxiety. This is probably better though, letting the Capitol people see that I'm not actually mad. I lower my visor and wave shyly at the spectators.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"She's too thin," a woman with a nasally voice complains.

She circles my naked form one more time for good measure and then secures a notebook and pen from one of her comrades.

"If you haven't heard, Galla, thin is in," the man with black hair drawls, snatching the paper back.

I stand in the center of the room like a statue. I haven't said a word since they whisked me away to the Remake Center even though my experience has been nothing short of unpleasant. Despite my shower on the train they insisted I be washed again, and then they covered me in a thick butter that was only to be rinsed off during my fourth stay in the tub. All the hair that was not on my head has been waxed and tweezed and I've been poked and prodded so many times that my skin has begun to ache. Now I'm forced to stand naked in front of three strangers as they evaluate my "strengths" and "weaknesses".

My prep team is made up of two identical women and the tallest, skinniest man I've ever met.

Apparently the women aren't related but have gone through cosmetic alterations to look alike. I guess family resemblances are among the many things that the Capitol fabricates. The first woman is named Galla. She's young and fairly slim, although not the Capitol definition of "thin" as the man, Klaus, had insinuated. Her hair is a demure violet color and she has dark stars at the center of her blue irises instead of round pupils. The other woman is just the same, except her name is Sonoma.

In comparison to his female cohorts Klaus has a more tame appearance. He's extremely thin, but underweight bodies are not all that unusual in Panem, although they're usually found in places such as District 12 and not the Capitol. The idea of starving yourself while having access to a plethora of foods makes me feel uneasy and I wonder if he's sick. He is dressed in black from head to toe, which isn't all that remarkable except for the fact his platform boots and thick rimmed glasses are bedazzled with amber and crystal studs.

He takes a moment to write down "thin" in the strengths column on his sheet of paper. Soon after pale, doe eyes, and cheekbones join the more favorable side of the chart, while uneven hips, freckles, and hair make an appearance on the weaknesses side. They all seem to agree that my hair is terrible and in dire need of attention.

"Darling what did you do to your hair?" Klaus asks. "It's absolutely wretched!"

I honestly don't think my hair deserves the descriptor of wretched but it is the shortest I've had it in a very long time, and slightly uneven. My hair falls about an inch beyond my collarbone and the cut is choppy at best. Months prior to my arrival in the Capitol I had gone for a swim near the docks and had the misfortune to swim into a net. Ironically, it was one of the nets my family had made, and therefore extremely effective. The fishermen had hauled me up on deck and exclaimed, "We've caught a mermaid!" to their fellows. Luckily they had sense enough to leave the actual hair cutting to my mother and simply severed the rope that was badly tangled in my tresses.

"Don't worry Annia, Vivien can fix it!" Sonoma cries as if fixing my hair is of upmost importance. Her Capitol accent is particularly pronounced.

"It's just Annie." I say in a small voice.

"She speaks! Add that to the list, Klaus," she gasps.

"What? That she can talk?"

"No! That her voice is so… so sweet!"

Sweetness makes me think of Thora Sugarcane. And Finnick. I wonder if he's already found some ritzy Capitol woman who will temporarily enjoy his company. He probably has and this makes me feel a bit glum for whatever reason. Of course Finnick Odair and my troubled locks should be the least of my worries seeing as I'll be dead in a few days. But I haven't yet found the courage to face that fact.

So "voice" is added to the list and then the paper is handed to a handsome woman who has just entered the room. She studies the list carefully with her back turned to me. She's the famed designer for District 4, the amazing Vivien.

"I suppose that sea siren design I was planning on is out of the question," she sighs before turning around.

For what seems like the next hour she scrutinizes my appearance, scribbles things in her notebook, and rips pages out. After much consideration the amazing Vivien opens her mouth and announces, "You will be a pearl! What with that lovely pale skin of yours… Don't you ever go outside girl? Don't answer that because I don't care, my brilliance has returned!"

During the opening ceremonies in recent years all of the female tributes from District 4 have blurred together in one vague representation of a mermaid, so I'm as thrilled as Vivien is with her brand new idea. As far as going outside goes, I guess the cream my prep team has spread over my entire body is doing its job of concealing the remnants of sunburn and tan lines. I choose to ignore the last part of what she said since it isn't the time to be making enemies with my brilliant stylist.

Not before long I'm clothed in a blindingly white garment and my skin is coated in a thin layer of shimmering dust. The cut of the dress is fairly simple with the hem just reaching my kneecaps and a scoop neckline but the overall effect is quite stunning. The fabric possesses a mesmerizing iridescent quality and as the sinking sun's rays touch the cloth I realize that it is not truly white but instead a handful of different colors at once. Soft pinks transition into pale greens and ivories which all recede into the bodice that is absolutely covered in pearls. My hair is styled into an updo and has little silver fish clipped into its sleek waves. And perhaps Vivien really does deserve the descriptor of amazing because she manages to make dark, heavy makeup compliment the whole ensemble.

Maybe I will get some sponsors tonight as I look a far cry from what I had looked like at the Reaping. I begin to feel hopeful, but then my stylist makes an offhanded comment that shatters my confidence.

"This was a wedding dress before I made the alterations," she says.

And it all comes crashing down around me because I will not live to see my wedding day. Of this I'm fairly sure, but from my realization rises a new determination, and I have decided that I'm going to try my hardest to win.

When I'm finally let out of the dressing room and I'm reunited with Pacific Smith. Apparently Vivien hadn't notified his stylist about my costume change because we hardly match at all. He's shirtless, revealing a well-built torso and his tan skin fades artfully into his navy pants. Each pant leg ends in its own blue caudal fin.

"I look absolutely ridiculous," Pacific declares, but despite his negative assertion he's grinning like a fiend. This is what he has been working towards his whole life and he's finally here. He must be downright giddy to be in the Capitol. And it must be the first time I've ever seen him smile because I notice he has a gap between his two front teeth.

"You don't look that bad," I assure him. "It looks like your designer just wanted to play up your strengths."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, taking a step towards me. I instinctually take a step backwards and he tries his best to stifle a laugh.

"Didn't your prep team make a strengths and weaknesses list?" I respond nervously.

"Don't worry Annie, I get it," he says, still laughing to himself. "I can't figure out how you manage to stand in the same room as Finnick though."

He slings an eye patch over his left eye and I'm left to ponder over his last statement. Then we are lead down to the ground floor of the Remake Center where our chariot awaits.

The District 4 chariot is pulled by two hearty strawberry roan horses and I give them each an affectionate pat on the nose before mounting the chariot. Some of the elders in the village say that we used to have wild horses in District 4 that would run across the beaches. But that was before The Dark Days Rebellion. I wonder if Mags remembers a time when horses ran along the shore.

"You know they say that Poseidon made horses out of ocean wave crests," I tell Pacific.

"Did he make Crestas out of ocean wave crests too?" My district partner inquires. He's making polite conversation but I can tell he's scoping out the Careers in the chariots ahead of us.

"I don't know." I'm a bit stumped by his question but add, "Are you suggesting I have a horse face?"

"Yes." And that gap between his teeth makes a reappearance.

Luckily I'm given no time to think of a lame response because our horses are tugging us forward. One by one the chariots leave the stable, each giving the one preceding it a little head start. Every district gets its moment in the lime light. Or the starlight.

The stars, bright and burning overhead are the first things I notice as we pull out of the stable followed by the cheers and shouts for District 4.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A shorter chapter this time. As always thank for for the reviews and favorites!

CHAPTER FOUR

"District 4 didn't have any trouble getting sponsors last year and the tributes were dressed as a run of the mill mermaid and pirate during the opening ceremonies! And their training scores were pretty low too. So you two should have no trouble getting sponsors this year!" Thora Sugarcane explains, as chipper as ever.

We've made it to the fourth floor of the Training Center and although the fashion show has barely ended it's time to start strategizing for the Games.

"You two looked pretty out there," Finnick says dreamily, giving Thora one of his signature smiles.

She nearly swoons but contains herself when she sees Mags squinting at her. She must be a little afraid of the old woman, I know I am. Although Mags is old and gentle there is an underlying darkness in her tourmaline green eyes. She was once a Victor herself. Still is, technically.

Night is falling and although the red suns sinks over the Capitol the streets below still buzz with excitement and we are only just sitting down to dinner. A few Capitol servants in white uniforms set the table with china, cutlery, and a main course. It's some kind of rich savory dish with rice, shriveled plums, and a type of meat I don't recognize. The thick, creamy white sauce that blankets the entire entrée isn't all that palatable to my tastes but I stomach the heavy meal anyways. I could probably afford to put on a few pounds before entering the arena.

"I'm guessing this isn't fish," Pacific says, scrutinizing a piece of meat he's speared with his fork.

"No, it's lamb!" Thora exclaims which prompts Finnick to baa. We all laugh, except for the Avoxes. They instead bring a few more dishes of piping hot food to the table, this time a plate or two of fish cutlets that are garnished with oranges and turnips. Pacific seems sheepish about the change but still swaps his lamb for a fish dish.

After everyone's eaten we begin to plan for the coming days.

"District Four is a Career district, and I honestly think both of you have a shot of getting into the Career Pack this year," Finnick says.

Mags' bobs her head up and down and adds, "Sorry bunch this year."

"Right, the Careers from One and Two aren't all that impressive this year, but they've still got a better shot at surviving the first week than the kids from lower districts. Tomorrow's the first day of training and I advise you two to get to know them. Dazzle and Cameo are the boy and girl from District One while Hadrian and Laurentia hail from District Two," Finnick comments.

I have my doubts about my merit as a Career. I'm almost certain that they would take Pacific in without a second thought, but me… I was pretty sure that Finnick and Mags were going to tell me that I'd be paddling my canoe alone.

"I'm not so sure I'll be allowed in the Career pack, Finnick. I'm not a Career," I say, lowering my voice slightly. I'm worried about alluding to my weakness in front of Pacific, but I probably haven't said anything he hasn't already figured out for himself.

"I wouldn't be too quick to count yourself out," he says, and this takes me by surprise. "Plus, the best you can do is try to get in. Being rejected and not trying to get in at all will yield the same outcome anyhow."

"Well, you're right…"

"So after we wheel out the welcome wagon, what should we do?" Pacific asks, trying to push the conversation along.

"You should check out what each of the stations has to offer. Try some things you're good at and pick up a few skills along the way. Tomorrow won't be too crucial to our strategy since it's only the first day. Everybody will be getting use to the setup of the room."

I reenter the conversation with a, "What exactly is our strategy anyways?"

"Don't worry; we'll work on it every day after training," Our mentor assures me.

"But now it's time for bed," Mags says solidly. She raises herself from the table and gestures for us to do the same.

"Right, thanks Mags. Time for bed kiddos," Finnick affirms, getting up. It looks more like he's getting ready to leave than go to bed himself though. He looks at his watch and seems impatient.

I don't dwell on my mentor's odd behavior for too long though because I'm happy to go to bed. I haven't slept since that afternoon on the train and I'm fairly exhausted.

"Goodnight," I say to no one in particular.

"Goodnight, Annie," Finnick says, and I realize we're the only ones still standing in the dining room. He must be waiting for me to leave. As I head down the hallway that leads the way to my bedroom I hear the front door click shut. But I don't think about Finnick or the gap in Pacific's teeth or the Games or blood and therefore I sleep well.

In the morning only Mags joins us for breakfast seeing as Thora has been up since dawn and, having eaten breakfast already, busies herself in clerical work. Finnick on the other hand still hasn't returned from wherever he went last night. Pacific, Mags, and I make inconsequential small talk over apple bread and juice for the majority of the meal, but suddenly Mags' voice becomes dead serious. Despite the side effects of her stoke she speaks deliberately and enunciates every syllable for guaranteed understanding.

"Remember that you are to warm up to the other Careers today but also consider that you will need to break away."

Pacific and I look at her in confusion and remain silent, so she speaks to this point further.

"Leaving the Pack will be important. Leave too soon and the whole arena will hunt you down… Leave too late and you'll be an easy target for the remaining Careers. You need to leave while there are still other tributes in the field, but not too many…"

Her advice seems valid enough, so what confuses me most is her timing. We're -well I'm - not even sure if I have a spot among the Careers and breaking my nonexistent alliance is currently low on my list of priorities.

"And if we time it wrong?" Pacific asks.

"If it is already too late… Kill them in their sleep," our elderly mentor responds.

Kill them. This is an aspect of the Games that I have conveniently ignored up until this point. But now I have no choice but to address it. If I am to become the victor that I've decided I will be I must slaughter the competition. My pink hands will be painted red by the time I make it out of the arena.

I look down at my pale palms and can already see the harsh color burning beneath my skin. Crimson fills my blue veins but luckily my company isn't privy to my transformation. I hide my arms beneath the skirt of the white table cloth and act as if nothing is wrong.

"You alright, dear? You look pale," Mags says, and as the darksome quality in her eyes begins to dissipate so does the red of my flesh.

Relieved I reply, "Yes I'm fine… Just anxious to get down to training is all."

"Then you best hurry down…"

We're relatively early for training but the room is already peppered with tributes. I look around. There are at least a dozen stations set up around the gym, half of them are dedicated to survival and the other half is for weaponry and skills. Tributes stand away from each other waiting for the session to begin… or be over with. The only tributes that stand in a group are the Careers.

Pacific nods at them and a boy with a square jaw and dark curls nods back smugly. We approach the group and this is the first time I'm able to get a really good look at my allies. The boy who nodded is the District 2 boy and although he's a head shorter than Pacific he is more muscular. His district partner, Laurentia is also fairly short but solidly built. She has a matronly appearance and could probably crush my head between her thighs.

Pacific and Hadrian shake hands but it seems more like they're trying to covertly break each other's fingers. I'm soon ambushed with a bone cracking hug courtesy of the girl from District 1.

She is fair with rosy cheeks and long chestnut hair, and I can't help but think that this is what my team wished I looked like. She introduces herself as Cameo Saks and proudly points to the token that she already wears around her neck. Unlike the boy from her district she is every bit her namesake. Dazzle on the other hand doesn't have the glittering personality his name would suggest. Instead he's weasel-like and aloof.

"Annie Cresta! What a treasure you are, an absolute treasure!" Cameo exclaims. "Isn't she a treasure Dazzle?"

Dazzle doesn't say anything but gives me a side long glance.

"Yes you are precious! But don't get the wrong idea, Annie Cresta, I will cut you," She adds, her voice entirely too melodious to carry the weight of her statement.

"Thank you," I say pleasantly, and my second thought comes at a whisper, "and I'll kill you in your sleep."

Atala, the head trainer, soon enters and the first session begins. She tells us about the various stations in length and just as she is instructing us not to hurt each other a brutal looking girl bursts through the doors.

"You're late, Ten," Atala says flatly, stopping her spiel midway to address the tardy tribute.

"I'm late but you're going to have to deal with it," the girl from 10 says.

She walks past our group without as much as a glance. Cameo mimes shooting the zero on her back with an imaginary bow and arrow and this elicits the first emotion I've seen from Dazzle all morning. He's practically having a fit, but Ten ignores his snickers and takes her place in the circle. It looks like Lily Byron, the milk maid from 10, is the tribute to beat.


End file.
